


restaurants and pokemon

by proletaricat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, M/M, POV Kozume Kenma, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proletaricat/pseuds/proletaricat
Summary: Kenma works at a restaurant despite his dislike for human interaction and Kuroo is the only one to pay him any mind. As they progress from coworkers, to friends, to boyfriends, Kuroo handles Kenma's prickly attitude and Kenma handles adjusting to integrating another human into his life.This is a rather self-indulgent fic exploring Kenma's characterization, usage of 2nd person POV in writing, and telling the story of mental illness and how it doesn't have to rule one's life.





	restaurants and pokemon

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a lot of stories exploring Kenma's apparent anxiety and attributing various mental illnesses to him, a lot of which I have found myself disappointed with in some regards because I can't relate to them - I've dealt with my own for 14 years and function in the real world, so I wanted to tell the story of Kenma with that anxiety and mental illness from a more realistic point of view.

Wake up. Get dressed. Start the car. Drive to work. Work. Eat lunch. Go back to work. Start the car. Leave work. Drive home. Turn on computer. Power up the 3DS. Play Pokemon for 3.5 hours, occasionally checking serebii and pokemondb. Breed for 6 Perfect IVs. Ampharos’s base stats sorta suck, but it’s cute, so who cares?

Take a shower. Dry hair. Go back to room. Sit down. Wake 3DS up from sleep mode. Take medication out. Measure out – 2 pills – 400mg each of lamotrigine. 1 pill – 300mg of bupropion. Open drink. Take pills. Continue playing Pokemon.

It’s 4:00am. There’s work in the morning. It’s okay, you only need to wake up by 10, and you can survive on 5 hours of sleep, so you have another hour. Continue playing Pokemon.

You’ve got a 5 perfect IV Mareep. Not good enough. It’s 5:13am. 4 hours of sleep is okay. Save game. Turn off 3DS. Wash face. Lie down in bed. Stare at ceiling.

It’s 6:27am. 3 hours of sleep is okay. Not ideal, but okay.

It’s 8:39am. You have to wake up at 10:00am. You give up on sleep. Turn on 3DS. Continue playing Pokemon. Rinse. Repeat.

x

Your coworker notices you’re tired, after the 2nd day of no sleep. Well, actually, you got a couple hours the night before. You contemplate whether or not it’s worth it to take the Xanax tonight to help you sleep. You only have a few pills left. 0 refills. You don’t want to have to explain to your psychiatrist why you need more, because that means you’re not doing as well as you pretend you are.

“Try regular exercise.”

“Turn off electronics a few hours before bed.”

“Don’t drink caffeine past 5:00pm.”

“Meditate.”

“Try taking melatonin.”

Whatever.

x

Your coworker asks about your health again. You shrug the concerns off. Whatever. You sent an e-mail to your GP, because they have that cool electronic system now. You ask about sleeping medication.

“You reacted poorly to Ambien, I think we should try other things before going that route again.”

You wonder if the hallucinations were worth the sometimes-sleep you got. Your doctors won’t prescribe it to you anyway, so you give up.

x

A week later. You take another Xanax. You’re paranoid about addiction. You can’t _afford_ to get addicted. It’s not in your life plans. You wonder if you’ll ever actually be able to _achieve_ those life plans. In your head, mentally, you know you’re smart enough. You know you’re capable enough. Your therapist reminds you that you have to respect the mental illness. That even though you may be intellectually capable, physically maybe you’re not.

You’ve spent over a decade in recovery already. You know it’s never going to end. You will be taking lamotrigine and bupropion for life, or until they don’t work anymore. You’re afraid for the day that your body gets used to them and you have to go through the cycle of finding medications that work.

SSRIs make you manic. SNRIs trigger paranoid hallucinations. You’ve tried risperidone – paranoid hallucinations. You’ve tried Seroquel. Paranoid hallucinations.

Bupropion makes you lose weight and your appetite, but it’s preferable when the other option is anxiety strong enough to make you nonfunctional. You still have generalized anxiety. It mostly manifests as social anxiety. But the bupropion makes it so that you can go outside, interact with people, make phone calls.

The therapy helps you develop coping mechanisms for when it becomes too much. For when you have anxiety attacks.

Sometimes they take you by surprise. That growing headache, and you can’t really breathe easily, you’re tense, something feels _wrong_. You avoid people.

Ah, yes. Another attack.

Sometimes it takes the form of crying, shutting down, a cycle of frantic thoughts until you remember how to cope. Deep breaths. Close eyes. Lie down. Music. Distract yourself.

You recover for now.

x

It’s winter. You’re cold. The skies are grey. You’re sad.

x

“I’m going to prescribe some Vitamin D for you. It sometimes helps people with Seasonal Affective Disorder. There are also some sun lamps you can get, or special lightbulbs, that you can consider. I also recommend regular exercise and developing good habits nutritionally. Good sleep hygiene.”

Whatever.

x

Lamotrigine, 400mg. Bupropion, 300mg. Vitamin D, 2000 i.u.

x

It’s April. It’s still cold. But the sun has come out. You feel a little bit lighter.

x

It’s May. There are more warm days. You keep the curtains open sometimes because the sun shines through the window in the afternoon. You curl up in it like a cat and take naps. It makes you happy.

x

You’re not sad all the time. It’s not—the depression doesn’t take you over all the time. It comes and goes. It’s like… there is a normal level of human emotions. Let’s say, normal sadness and depression is 0. Joy and bliss for a normal human is at 10. Unmedicated depression for you is… -10. Hypomania (thank god it’s bipolar II and not I) is… maybe 14. Your therapist tells you mania is like, 20+. Your average state, unmedicated, swings wildly. It sometimes creeps slowly from depression over a period of weeks. It lasts a few more weeks. It _always_ crashes quickly. Back down to the bottom of the hole. The depression lasts for months. Sometimes the hypomania creeps up over the period of a few days instead of weeks, sometimes maybe only 2 days. Sometimes it lasts just a little over 1 week. It always crashes quickly.

Medicated, your average state stays around a 3. When you’re happy, maybe a 5. Mania, which isn’t _happiness_ , really, swings up to an 11 or 12 when it’s bad. The depression… generally stays around a -2. But it doesn’t last as long, and that strange delusional fog of ‘I’m not good enough’ and ‘nobody likes me’ isn’t there. You’re conscious. You understand—this is only temporary. The episodes don’t last as long, and when you’re medicated, they average out. If most people average out at 5, you’re used to 3 being the norm. You can’t really understand what it feels like to be… ‘ _normal_ ’. But that’s okay. You’ve come to terms with it. This is forever. You can deal with it. You have medication. You have a good team of doctors. You’ve spent enough time struggling with it that you _know_ it can be managed. That you can still experience happiness. You have hobbies. You have things you enjoy.

The insomnia still sucks though.

You could probably eat better. You exercise enough at your job. You’re not sure how you can be a waiter but also have weird anxiety and fatigue and get exhausted from social situations.

You decline invitations to bars, to parties, but it’s okay.

x

Your coworker is worried about you again. You wonder why he cares and how he notices and why he pays so much attention to you.

x

Why is he asking you about video games?

x

He plays Pokemon GO. Your restaurant is a PokeStop. You teach him how to throw curveballs. He’s horrible at it. You help him catch a Charizard. The smile you get in return triggers some weird feeling in your chest.

x

You help him catch a Pidgey.

x

“Why do you have so many Pidgeys? You should trade them in for candies so you can evolve them…”

“I don’t want them grinded into Pokemon candy and then force the Pidgeys to be cannibals by eating their brothers and sisters.”

You let out a quiet laugh. He beams at you.

x

“Hey. Can I talk to you?”

He looks serious. You feel a little anxious. “Ah, yeah.”

“Most people gossip and you’re kind of the only one who’s serious and doesn’t talk, so I thought… I dunno, I don’t really have anyone to talk to.”

You give him a questioning look. He sighs, running a hand through his (horribly messy) hair.

You find yourself asking, “Do you own a comb?”

You didn’t mean to say that out loud. He smiles. Your chest does that weird thing again.

“Nah,” he replies, clearly joking. You’re glad you get the joke. “But, uh…” he closes his eyes, shifting his weight. You know that expression. Anxiety. “Like… my parents found out I’m gay.”

You stare.

“That’s—you’re not bothered by that, are you?”

“No.”

He seems perturbed that that’s the only answer you give. You feel like elaborating, for some reason. He feels safe.

“It’s… I’d be a hypocrite if it bothered me.”

He looks a little shocked. “You’re—I mean, you don’t seem…”

“You flirt with older women for tips. _You_ don’t seem gay.”

He grins, relaxing minutely. “You got me there.”

You’re silent.

“So… they found out, right? They’re really upset. I don’t… I’m scared they’re gonna kick me out.”

You aren’t sure what to say.

“I just—I guess I just needed to say something to someone about it.”

“You don’t have anywhere you can stay?”

“Nobody really knows I’m gay.”

“So?”

“They’d ask why I was kicked out.”

“Lie to them.”

“I—well, I also… don’t really have any friends outside work…”

You nod knowingly. Work friends aren’t friend-friends. “There are shelters. I think.” You feel like offering him a spot in your tiny efficiency apartment. Why?

He nods, sitting down in the seat of a nearby booth. It’s 2:00pm, and the restaurant is empty of customers. You sit down opposite of him, feeling awkward standing. “How did—do your parents know?” your coworker asks.

“They disowned me.”

He stares at you, horrified.

“It’s why I work full time. To afford my apartment. I’m saving up for school.”

Your coworker closes his eyes, bites his lip. “I don’t want to take time off school. I’m afraid I won’t go back.”

You shrug. “It’s a valid concern.”

“How do you do it?”

You aren’t sure what he’s asking. “What?”

“I’m sorry, maybe I’m being nosy. You’re like, exhausted all the time, but you still work 40 hours a week at this place. That’s—insane. I’ve seen you pull 12-hour shifts.”

You shrug again. “When the only other option is failure, you do what you have to in order to survive.”

“Do you think I could do that…?”

“Survive?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know you well enough to say.”

“Do you want to get to know me?”

You stare. You raise an eyebrow. He blushes.

“I mean—sorry, that sounded weird.”

“It sounded like you were asking me out.”

His face turns red. You roll your eyes, but it makes you smile. Just a little.

“I wasn’t, I, well…” he stutters, trying to figure out how to backtrack.

“Sure,” you reply. Why?

He looks shocked, but pleased. “Cool. What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t really do anything besides play video games. I don’t like going outside. It’s tiresome.”

He looks away, trying to hide his smile. Why is he smiling?

“That’s cool. I’m kind of getting sick of the drinking and partying life.”

“So you want to play video games?”

“I suck at them.”

“You just need practice.”

He laughs. It doesn’t sound like a happy laugh. “I’d need something to play the games on.”

“I have an extra 3DS.”

His eyes widen.

“I mean, you can’t _have_ it, but I’d let you play it. If you come over. I need someone to play the other Pokemon game. It’s irritating running 2 at the same time.”

“You want me to play Pokemon with you?” He looks amused.

You look at him blankly. “Yes.”

“You just want to use me to like… catch Pokemon or something.”

“Yes.”

He grins. “You admit it so easily!”

“There are game exclusive Pokemon I need and I don’t want to use the GTS.”

“I have no idea what that means, but okay.”

“I have off Mondays.”

“I can do Monday nights.”

“Sure.”

You make plans.

x

It’s Monday. You’re tired and a little freaked out. Maybe you should cancel? But that thought bothers you even more. You don’t want _him_ to get disappointed. He rings the buzzer, you let him in, you _stare at him_ because he looks _good_ in street clothes.

“Your mouth is hanging open. Am I really that hot?”

You stutter out a ‘no’ and slam the door shut. Shit. You open the door again and pretend you didn’t just do that. He grins at you, takes off his shoes, you shut the door, you both settle down. You teach him how to play Pokemon.

x

It’s next Monday.

“Your team is terrible.”

“It’s cute!”

“You have two Magikarp, a Zubat, a Metapod, a Pikipek, and for some reason you haven’t evolved your disgusting looking Popplio.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s terrible. You have 3 water-types and you’re going to have 3 flying types. What happens when you run across electric-types?”

He frowns.

“Uh…”

“Get a Diglett at least.”

“And replace what?”

“Fucking _anything_ , your team is horrific.”

“Maybe the Poppli—”

“Absolutely not. Replace a fucking Magikarp. You disgust me.”

He laughs, leaning against you and bumping you with his shoulder. He’s gotten more forward with the physical affection lately. You hadn’t realized until recently that you’re touch-starved. You don’t like people, but you begin to think you like _him_.

x

“Why did you just cancel Magikarp’s evolution?!”

“I don’t like Gyarados.”

“What— _why_?”

“It isn’t cute.”

“You’re horrible.”

x

“Captain Ilima is kind of hot.”

…

“Man this Rolodex is right when it calls him a ‘dreamboat’.”

“ _Rolodex_?”

“Rotom… whatever. You know.”

“Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“You have to agree, though. Ilima is dreamboat material.”

You roll your eyes. “Not my type. But he’s pretty.”

“What’s your type then?” His normal teasing lilt is missing. You grow a little uncomfortable. You feel compelled to answer.

“Just—I guess… someone more outgoing?”

He raises an eyebrow. “So the opposite of you?”

“It’s kind of the only way I’d ever find anyone…”

He smiles. “What about physically?”

You frown and ask him the same question rather than answer. He grins. “Captain Ilima.”

“You like 2D men?”

“No—you—goddamn. Like… small. Cute. Chill. Laid-back. Now _you_ have to answer.”

You don’t really know how to answer without… incriminating yourself. You take a moment to think it over. “Tall…”

“Just tall?”

You blush. “Muscles, maybe. But not too much.”

“So no weight-lifters or gym-addicts?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, what else?” He’s leaning in closer. He looks oddly interested in what you have to say. You’re flustered.

“Come on,” he urges, grinning now.

“Someone like—” You try to think of someone similar to the type of guy you like. “Like y—uhh I mean, like, Chris Evans.” _Fuck_. Fuck fuck fuck. You feel like you’re about to have a panic attack.

He’s quiet for a moment. “What were you going to say at first?” You close your eyes, looking away. “Cuz it sounded like you were gonna say ‘someone like you’… like… like _me_.”

You lick your lips nervously.

“I kind of like you too,” he says quiet, anxious. It’s your turn to be silent.

“Is that why you wanted to hang out with me?” You ask. Because that’s usually it. You’re—you know people think you’re cute. It’s usually what people want when they ask you to hang out.

“No!” he answers quickly. “I mean—you were cute, uh, I mean, you _are_ cute—but… I dunno, I feel comfortable with you. You’re fun to hang out with. I like learning how to play Pokemon, even if my team ‘disgusts’ you.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, wringing your hands.

He frowns. “Sorry—I made you uncomfortable. I can leave, if you want?”

“No.”

You answer so quickly you shock yourself. He blinks. He looks hopeful.

“It’s… just stay,” you elaborate, voice quiet.

“Can I hug you?” he asks.

You tense up, and then nod, and then he scoots toward you and gives you a gentle hug. You relax and close your eyes and lean into the embrace. He tightens his hold on you, buries his face in your hair, and you slowly shift your arms to return his hug. You stay like that for a few minutes. He shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable. You pull back from the hug and contemplate being bold for once. You look up at him with a frown and reach out to rearrange him to a more comfortable position to lean on. He smiles, runs a hand through your hair, and it’s your turn to bury your face in some part of him. His shirt smells nice. It smells comforting. You close your eyes. He’s warm. He kisses the top of your head. You scoot closer. You haven’t been close to someone like this before. It feels so much better than you had imagined. He shifts again, leans against the back of the couch, pulls you into his lap. You freeze. He apologizes, moves to get up and leave you alone. You collapse against him like a deadweight, forcing him still, and you frown up at him.

He laughs, wraps his arms around you again, then starts carding his fingers through your hair.

“You should dye it again,” he says quietly. “I mean—it’s cute, I like the lazy not-touching-up-your-roots thing, but it’d be interesting to see you all blond.”

“You should invest in a comb.”

He grins and buries his face in your hair. “We can go to Walgreens together. I’ll buy a comb, you get the hair dye.”

You sigh. “Troublesome.”

“I’ll help,” he offers, voice soft. “And then maybe you can brush my hair for me.”

“It’s hopeless,” you respond, looking up at him. “There’s no taming it. Maybe we should shave it off?”

He looks offended. “ _Never_ ,” is his gasped response. You crack a smile, he kisses your forehead. You like it.

“Do you really want me to?” You question.

“Up to you,” he replies with a shrug.

“Maybe.”

“Okay.”

He’s smiling again. He’s not trying to convince you. It’s _nice_.

x

You don’t end up dyeing your hair.

x

You haven’t slept in two days again. He’s worried. He’s affectionate at work. You tell him to stop, to be more subtle. He backs off, but things are tense between you two. It’s a week later before he brings it up, clearly hurt.

“Is it—do you want to keep it a secret or something?”

You aren’t sure how to answer. “No,” you say slowly. “But I don’t like PDA. And work isn’t really… the appropriate place.”

He nods, frowning still. “Yeah, okay.”

You feel upset that you’ve upset him. You find yourself wanting to compromise for the first time.

“If you want—you can…” you struggle to think of something you’d be comfortable with. He’s quiet, letting you think, letting you arrange your words and think them through. “I don’t think I’d mind occasional hugs. Or… I like when you play with my hair.” You’re blushing.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming on.”

You nod. You’re not sure how he can read you so well when everyone else tells you that you’re like a stone wall. “Just, not in the front of house. Or… at least be discreet.”

He smiles. “Sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

You smile.

x

It’s quiet, no customers again, the only other lunch server is on break. He comes up behind you, gives you a small hug, and then makes to move away. You find yourself leaning into the hug and grabbing his arms, keeping him near you. He tightens his hold, and you can practically feel the happiness radiating from him. It’s contagious. You turn to smile at him. His returning grin is… perfect.

x

It’s been a few months. You’ve only grown more comfortable. He finally gave up his stupid team for good Pokemon (that you bred for him). He named each Pokemon after you.

“That’s stupid.”

“Nah, they’re all cute. Like you.”

“I do not look like a Garchomp.”

He grins. “I dunno, I think he’s cute. In his own way.”

“It’s a female Garchomp.”

“Still cute.”

“It’s a stupid name for a female Garchomp.”

“What would you have me name it?”

“Anything but ‘Kenma’.”

He laughs, pressing his face against your neck, kissing it gently. You let out a content sigh, snuggling up against him. You cuddle each other for a while.

x

He finds the medication. You left it out accidentally. You catch him looking at the bottles, reading the names. You freeze. Your face is blank. He looks at you and smiles, shaking one of the bottles.

“I take Wellbutrin too.”

Your mouth opens, closes, you blink. “You—really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Depression. Runs in the family. It’s not super bad, but it’s still there, you know?”

You nod. You know. You understand. He points to the other medication. “Bipolar?”

Your eyes widen.

“I had a friend,” he explains. “He was bipolar as well.”

“Had…?”

He frowns, looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You’re silent. “Okay.”

The next few hours are tense.

“He killed himself.”

You freeze again. Aren’t sure what to say. You don’t really have words, so you set your 3DS aside and lean against him, hugging him tight. He returns the hold, pressing his face to your neck, and you can feel the wetness of some tears.

“I miss him.”

“That—that sucks.” Was that insensitive? He laughs sadly.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

More silence. The tension has dissipated somewhat, but is still there.

“Thanks,” he says finally, relaxing against you. You aren’t sure why he’s thanking you, but you nod anyway, swallowing your nerves and leaning up to kiss his cheek. He _beams_. “God, I love you.”

This time you _both_ freeze. Stare at each other. He looks horrified. “Sorry, I mean, I—well I mean it, but I just—I know you’re not—”

You interrupt him. “I… I think I feel the same.”

The relief you can see on his face makes your heart skip a beat. You still haven’t kissed full-on, but he isn’t pressuring you, isn’t rushing you, he said he _loves_ you—and it wasn’t in some contrived, romantic situation. An accidental confession, in your opinion, is more genuine. It feels good. He doesn’t question your use of the way you said ‘I think’ versus a simple ‘I love you too’ response.

x

It’s another few months later when you can build up the nerve to say, spontaneously, “I love you too.”

He laughs quietly, joyfully, kisses the corner of your mouth. “Me too. I love you too. A lot.”

He’s getting bolder with his kisses. You realize you’d be okay with _really_ kissing.

x

Somehow you’ve found yourself in his lap. It started out with a tentative, nervous kiss. Then another. Then you relaxed. You’re not sure if you climbed onto him or if he pulled you, but either way, he’s comfortable and you’re only minimally afraid. The kisses grow longer. His hand runs through your hair. He nips at your lower lip and the swipe of his tongue makes you gasp, pull back.

“Too much?” he questions quietly, still smiling. You don’t feel judged, or rushed.

“A little.”

“Do you want to stop?”

You take the time to think it through. “No.”

He nods, leans in for another kiss. You continue. He doesn’t push to make it deeper. He lets you control the pace.

x

It’s a few weeks later.

You’re kissing again. In his lap again. Arms around his neck. One of his hands is on your lower back, other in your hair again. You love when he touches your hair.

It’s you who introduces tongue this time. The moan he lets out makes your blood hot. He pulls back, face red. “S-sorry.”

You chase his lips, pressing a hand against the back of his head to push his face closer. Your mouth opens. His opens. Your tongues meet. It’s like electricity. You continue for a while. You feel his erection against you, you startle and pull back. He apologizes again, looks afraid. You shake your head.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “But let’s stop for now.”

He nods, smiling a little.

“We can… we can continue later.”

His smile grows.

x

You’re on your back, he’s hovering above you, kissing you deep. He rolls his hips against you, and you _moan_ , pressing back. He swears under his breath, pressing his face to your neck and grinds against you again. You gasp, grip the back of his shirt, pull him closer. He starts kissing your neck and you turn your head to give him more room. He presses against you fully, making slow, circular, grinding motions with his hips. You can’t help but mewl in response, spreading your legs, pressing up to meet his motions.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “ _Kenma_.”

The sound of your name on his lips causes your hips to buck for some reason, and he grinds down _hard_ , biting your shoulder, and you cry out. You’ve never been so hard in your _life_.

“Can I touch?” he asks, breathless. You shake your head. You’re not ready for that. He accepts it. Nods. Moves back to kissing you, continuing to grind and press and roll his hips and you grip his hair, hand moving down to press against his lower back, legs spread further. He’s panting against your lips. It’s kind of gross. But still makes your blood boil with desire.

He reaches climax first, blushing, but you follow soon after. It takes a few moments for you to both calm down. You make a face.

“Gross.”

He just laughs, grinning, kisses your cheek. “Yeah, a bit.”

You push at his hip. “We need to change.”

“All I have is my work clothes,” he says with a frown. You roll your eyes.

“You left some stuff at my house last time you stayed over.” He’s stayed over a few times. You like to cuddle in bed with him.

x

He calls you, late at night, when he’s supposed to be in bed. You look at the time. 3:19am.

“Kuro?”

There’s silence on the line and then it sounds like he’s crying.

“They, ah,” he’s interrupted by a hiccupping sob. Shit. “Kicked me out. I got home—they had packed a bag, and—just, I dunno what to do.”

“When did they kick you out?” you sit up in bed, eyeing the clock again. “It’s 3 in the morning.”

“When I got home from work…”

“…Kuro, that was like 5 hours ago. It’s _raining_.”

He’s quiet. “I didn’t want to bother you…”

“You’re so fucking stupid. Come over. Do you need me to come get you?”

“I don’t want to make you—”

“Shut up, idiot. Where are you?”

He gives you an address. You pick him up. He’s soaked. He’s so _stupid_.

You’re glad your tiny apartment has an in-room washer and dryer because his bag is also soaked. You shove everything into the washer, offer him some of the clothes he left over last time. “Take a shower,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He looks nervous. “Are you sure?”

You are _exasperated_. “Kuro. I love you. Please take a shower, and get dressed, and come cuddle with me in bed.”

“I’ll—yeah, okay. I’ll work on finding somewhere to live, so, and I can afford a motel for—”

“Wow. How did you get into university. You are so stupid.”

He looks confused.

“We’ve been dating for like a year now,” you add.

He still looks confused.

“You can live with me… I can add you to the lease…”

He looks shocked now.

“You don’t need to—”

“Do you not want to?” you interrupt.

“It’s not that…”

“I’ll talk to the landlord tomorrow. Shut up and take a shower.”

He smiles, small, and obeys. Finally.

He cries in the shower. You can hear it. He cries when you’re falling asleep, and you pull him close, kiss his chin, tell him you love him, and wait until he falls asleep until succumbing as well.

x

It’s some more months later. His parents haven’t spoken to him since, except for one time to coordinate him picking up the rest of his stuff. It’s kind of cluttered and cramped in the apartment now, and he still apologizes for it, but it’s getting rarer.

x

“I can get rid of some of my stuff, so—”

“We’ve saved up a lot of money. Living together.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I can afford school on my own now. I dunno what I’d do without you.”

You blink. That’s not what you meant. “I mean, you can afford school but I’ve been looking, there’s a larger apartment in the same complex that we can afford on top of that. And still be able to save.”

His mouth opens. Closes. He looks like he’s in shock.

You sigh, irritated. “So we should move. To the new apartment. I’ve already signed the paperwork.”

You had contemplated getting his opinion first, but you know he’d just waffle back and forth and apologize for ‘inconveniencing’ you. It’s better this way. He starts to cry again, hugs you, smiles against your skin and whispers ‘I love you’ again and again. You’re not really sure why he’s so happy, but whatever.

“I love you too,” you respond.

x

Kuroo has organized the new apartment. It looks like something out of one of those home and garden magazines.

“You’re like a housewife,” you comment. He grins.

“Now all I need to learn is how to sew.”

You make a face. “How about you learn how to cook first.”

He gasps, feigning offense. “Kenma! How could you! I am an amazing cook!”

“You burn popcorn.”

He pouts. You roll your eyes. He’s so cute he makes you want to puke. He kisses you.

x

“I want to have sex.”

You say it out of the blue. You haven’t gone all the way yet. His eyes widen, he drops the controller. You sigh and pause the game.

“Do you not want to?”

“Kenma you have no idea how badly I want to pin you down and fuck you.”

You blush, you feel tingles down your spine and heat in your blood. He’s staring at you again, but this time his gaze is predatory. “When?” he asks, voice deep with _something_.

“Now…?” you suggest.

He stands, licks his lips, looks crestfallen.

“What’s wrong?”

“We don’t have any condoms,” he says sadly.

You make a face.

“Do we need them?”

“Safe sex is important!”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“ _Fuck_ no,” he says, actual irritation on his face. “How could you—”

“Then why do we need condoms?” you ask again, rolling your eyes. “It wasn’t a serious question, Kuro. I know you’re not cheating on me.”

He calms down, takes a deep breath. “It’s better, the first few times at least, because it can get messy. You hate messy.”

You pause. Blush. You stutter. “I want it messy,” you finally get out. He groans.

“Fucking hell.”

He clenches his fists, you’re breathing shallowly. He looks absolutely wrecked and you haven’t even touched yet.

“Bedroom,” he says, voice hoarse, stepping back and nearly tripping over the cord to one of the controllers. You scramble off the couch and hurry to the bed.

The first time is… disastrous. To say the least. He’s apologizing but you can’t stop laughing. It’s so bad it’s _hilarious_. He looks like he’s about to cry and you try to control your giggles, pulling him close, kissing his lips and cheeks and face.

“Kuro,” you manage, smiling wide at him. He looks baffled. “I love you. I was so worried that I’d—that I’d mess it up. And we did, but I don’t feel anxious. It’s okay. We’ll try again.”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. “You’re not anxious?”

You shake your head. He returns your smile. “That makes me happy.”

“We can try again, right?”

“Yeah. But, uh… maybe not tonight.”

You grin again and nod. “Let’s clean up…”

You clean up. You cuddle. You fall asleep happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I've contemplating adding a second chapter with non-bad sex, but I'm not sure I'll ever get around to it. Is that something people would like to see?


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